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BDSM Poetry: Voyeur


Hover in the background, outside

the bubble they exist within. It’s not

just you, there are several people

lingering nearby. Watching. Learning,

enjoying, imagining themselves in the scene.

She’s leaning over a spanking bench,

her knees cushioned by soft leather,

her hands gripping the inclined back

in a white-knuckle grip. There are no ropes

Holding her there. No straps or chains. 

She’s staring straight ahead but all

of her attention is focused on the

sadist prowling around her. You’re aware

of him, but you’re watching her. She’s

panting, back arched, anticipation

keeping her body strung tight. He looses

the whip and you hear the crack, see her

lips part on gasp. Her body jerk, a whimper

escape her. She dips her head and then

offers herself again. He smiles, rewards her

with several lashes, one after the other.

Her screams get louder, she tries to draw

away but he drags her back. His grip

in her hair tilts her head back and they

exchange a look. A secret passes between them,

one you desperately wished you knew.

She smiles, whispers something and he laughs.

Kisses her gently and then swaps the whip

for a paddle large enough to make your

stomach clench and her eyes widen.

Anticipation mixed with apprehension mixed

with that wild joy of pushing the envelope,

going into the dark places and seeing what truth

hides in the shadows. She turns her head and

looks right at you. A moment of awareness.

A moment of connection. She knows you know

why she’s there, what she’s feeling. She knows

that you’d swap with her in a heartbeat

even though you’re not sure you could handle

what he’s dishing out. Before you can decide,

she turns back to the wall, turns her attention

back to him, and the show goes on.  


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